


black hole sun.

by duaa



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo 2 [7]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Fevers, Gen, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, funkyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24436897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duaa/pseuds/duaa
Summary: Roman has a fever. It doesn't go well.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, implied Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo 2 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748965
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	black hole sun.

There are many symptoms of... many illnesses. Sometimes, the person experiencing them may not know what's wrong with them. Sometimes, it's better to feign ignorance, lest things get out of hand. Some symptoms of some illnesses include fevers. Most fevers are accompanied by other symptoms. Like headaches and chills and sweating and loss of life. Mental confusion and seizures. Seeing a light at the end of a tunnel. Vomiting. Being possessed by spirits younger than you. Vertigo and dehydration. Change in the colour of your blood. Change in the colour of your eye. Change. 

Maybe your usual red walls look brown. Ugly, drab brown. Maybe they look like an eyesore green, familiar and unwanted. Maybe the sparkling white accents are now grey, dusty and uncared for. Didn't you wipe them yesterday? Well, if you did wipe them on a Monday, and today is a Sunday - who's to say when you wiped them? Maybe the white is melting, leaving streaks of waxy white everywhere. 

Is someone calling your name? If so, they're saying it wrong. That is _not_ your name, because you know what your name is. Do you know what your name is? There's plate of spaghetti on your bed-stand. Who kept it there? Didn't you have a strict no-spaghetti policy? Or did you have a strict spaghetti policy - which would explain why it was falling from your ceiling fans. 

Someone shines a light in your eyes, and you claw at them, teeth bared as you valiantly protect yourself from their lasers and beams and death rays. You shake, or do you convulse? There are arms pining you down, but you will not be restrained! Someone calls your name again. You bare your teeth at them - pearly white teeth that are either melting like your furniture or grey and dusty. You swipe your tongue over them. There is no dust. There is no wax. You never had white teeth, pale yellow. 

"ROMAN THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE MY THING!" Demonic screeching rings through your ears, but you're just glad you understood the words.

* * * 

"Roman?" A hand in your hair. A face above yours. Another hand on your chest. Something cold on your forehead. Patton. He shifts, running his clammy hand through your sweaty hair. It's disgusting, absolutely disgusting. Something drips down your nose, stinging cold. The hand on your chest moves, wiping it away. The hand is cold, slightly damp. "Roman?"

"Hhhrrngg." The face moves away, becoming smaller. The washcloth on your forehead turns. Something jangles. You turn your head. Water drips down your cheek. The hand dutifully wipes it away again. Remus' eyes meet your own. 

"You're awake!" He's too loud. He's always been too loud, except right now, it's way louder than ever. "Sorry." He's quieter now. It's better. 

"Here." Hands on your shoulders, around your chest. Pulling. The world spins. You sit upright. There's a straw in front of your face. You wrap your hands around the glass. It's heavy. Way too heavy. Cold liquid sloshes around, dripping onto your bedsheet. The cold hands wrap around your own, guiding the straw to you lips. You drink. It's water. It tastes different. Not a good different. It tastes like metal, slightly acidic and not pleasant at all. Where did the washcloth go? A cold hand on your cheek, quickly warming up. "Swallow this with water, okay?" You like the voice. Caring. Calm. Cool. You really like the voice. You nod, accepting the white (no wax, no dust) pill. It tastes like ash, bitter where it sits on your tongue. 

Your drink water in the hopes that the ashy taste goes away. It doesn't. 

"It's lower now." The voice says. What is? The washcloth is back. There's a hand on your chest, guiding you back into pillow. Where did Patton go? 

"Uhh..." Your mouth feels like... you don't know what it feels like. It's not your mouth. That's all you know. "Patt'n?" 

"He went to get you juice." The voice responds. "Remus and I are here." Remus jangles in response, whispering something you can't hear. 

"Sleep." The voice commands. So you sleep.

* * * 

Roman wakes up again, slightly more sentient and awake and alive. He's acutely aware of the cold hand resting gently against his neck. It's either Logan or Virgil.

"Roman?" He opens his eyes to see Logan, holding a thermometer in his hand. "How do you feel?" He busies himself with pouring Roman a glass of water. 

"What happened?" 

"You had a fever. You were in the Imagination when we found you, things were out of hand." Roman nodded at that, griping the glass tight. Being sick in the Imagination was not fun. Everything was magnified there, scientifically incorrect and just confusing. He hated it. "How do you feel?" 

Roman wishes that Logan would put his hand on his neck again. "Better, I think."

**Author's Note:**

> lmk if you see a typo!  
> hope you like it ❤️💕


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